


relics of a forgotten god

by Starbound_Beast



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Clothed Sex, Crimson Flower, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Oral Fixation, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Top Edelgard von Hresvelg, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22769083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbound_Beast/pseuds/Starbound_Beast
Summary: During the fall of Garreg Mach, Rhea implies that Byleth is of her bloodline and may one day be Edelgard's undoing. Instead of being lost during the battle, Byleth is cared for by her students while she sleeps. While she sleeps, she changes.One student in particular, has had averyhard time waiting.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 16
Kudos: 330





	relics of a forgotten god

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah Yeah Yeah! My first smut! Haha! I'm probably going to go die in a hole somewhere after posting this!
> 
> This is very plot heavy for something I wanted to be pwp, sorry. LOL I've been sitting on this for months and have finally ~~gotten sick of looking at it~~ decided it's done.  
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> *places smut down and scuttles off to die in embarrassment*

The archbishop stands tall and proud before them, her robes a tattered and bloody mess, her serene face made terrifying by the anger that consumes her. “You ungrateful child! This is the thanks I receive for taking you on as professor? For allowing you to wield the sword of the creator? I would have offered you the world, had you but the sense to do as I asked.”

Byleth’s hands clench around the pommel of the holy relic, her mind racing with tactics and possibilities. She can barely concentrate on Rhea’s words. Hell, she can barely stand. Edelgard stands just behind her, watching, waiting.

Her student. . . All her students were counting on her. She would not fall today. She would not let them down. She had put her trust in Edelgard and now she stood to pay the price.

“Have you nothing to say for your crimes?” Rhea dips her chin as she asks, luminescent green eyes burning into her former ally.

“Quiet you monster! We will end your reign of tyranny today!” Edelgard takes a step forward, the sound of her heavy armor echoing loud in the wide entrance of the monastery. Byleth holds a wavering hand out behind her, wordlessly willing her student to stay behind.

Rhea merely laughs.

“A monster am I? Princess,” she says in a condescending motherly tone. “Why do you think it is that your beloved teacher can use the sword of the creator despite lacking a crest stone? Why is it do you think, that her eyes and hair have taken on a color alike to my own? We are one and the same, little girl.”

Edelgard says nothing. Byleth longs to turn to her; to assuage any fears she may have, to tell her she would never have anything to do with Rhea. But words fail her. Rhea continues on, sensing the weakness like a steel-eyed bird of prey.

“Byleth is of my blood. A child of the goddess. And someday princess, she will turn on you like the monster you have made me out to be!” The delight is obvious in her tinkling voice.

“Lies!”

“Is it so hard to believe? Does it not explain why I was so eager to have her at the monastery? That I might want to keep my kin close?”

It made a sick sort of sense and it overwhelms Byleth just how much sense it makes. She grasps the relic in both hands and twists. Glares daggers into Rhea’s amused and indignant face. The archbishop smiles, then takes a step toward them, her inhuman eyes vivid with madness.

“You can hear her, don't you? The voice of the Goddess-”

Propelled by fear, Byleth rushes to meet her, their blades crossing. The sound and clamor of it deafens her to anything else but this righteous fury, this monstrous fear. In the muddle of batte, Rhea’s face contorts into a monstrosity of scales and furor, the goddess’s blade catching on fangs just as long. Pain stabs through her body, the reverberations of metal on tooth striking deep in her bones like a sounding rod.

It becomes one great blur to her. The sounds of screams, the glaring lights, the burn of acrid smoke in her throat. In an instant, everything begins to tremble. The ground beneath her crumbles.

She is suddenly tired. . . When had she become so tired? When have her limbs become so heavy?

Strong arms pull her back from a yawning abyss, violet eyes swim into focus.

“I’ve got you!” A familiar, comforting voice called to her. “I won’t let you go.”

Byleth watches as a mass of white make its way across the burning sky. She feels herself carried away into nothing.

"I won't ever let you go," says the voice, and she believes it.

* * *

When she wakes, the room is deathly silent and dark. Her body is heavy under the covers, the silk as good as steel. Her limbs fail to obey her. She can't move an inch. She tries to speak, managing only a whimper.

She recalls nothing. Not where she was or where she had been. Nor why she was trapped here now, between sleep and wakefulness.

Panic strikes her deep, a searing constriction in her chest and throat. She tries desperately to shake her head to wake up her recalcitrant body and then-

Movement catches her eye in the periphery of her vision. She stops and tries her hardest to focus on it.

There, in the sliver of sunlight that escaped the curtains, sits a lone figure in red. A woman with an indistinct face hidden by shadow. Whoever she was, she sits so close that if she could, Byleth could reach out and touch her.

“My teacher . . .” She has a soothing voice, both familiar yet strange. Different. Changed. “Where have you gone?”

Byleth can't understand the stab of _pain-guilt-desire_ that comes over her in hearing that voice.

_What are you talking about? Reach out and touch me, I’m right here! I’m right--_

The woman in red reaches out to her and places her hand on Byleth’s. The gloved hand holds hers, clutches it tight, and pulls it to her lap, enveloping it.

“Come back to me.” Her white head lowers, the dim sunlight glinting off a golden head-piece. The woman begins brokenly, to sob.

_I haven’t gone anywhere, I would never leave you!_

“I need you.”

_But you have me! Please, don't cry!_

She is helpless as sleep drags her back down into darkness.

* * *

The second time Byleth opens her eyes she bolts upright in bed. Her head is pounding. Her vision is swirling. Even the small amount of sun seeping into the room hurts her eyes. She's sweaty, hot, confused and most important of all, she's thirsty as hell.

A shocked gasp and a wet crash draws her attention to the opposite corner of the room. In the dimness of the room, a terrified maid stands transfixed, a shattered ewer at her feet. A puddle spreads across the floor and soaks the girl’s shoes.

“Please,” Byleth croaks. “Water.”

The girl whimpers.

“By the goddess!” The girl nervously backs into the doorway. “Um-- Sir Hevring!” She calls, then runs off.

Byleth watches her go in despair, her throat dry and painful.

She pulls at the silken sheets. Red sheets, soft down comforter. Looking around her, she notices the room is spacious, the bed wide, the carvings on the post ornate. Whoever this room belongs to has to be important. She turns to see an empty chair beside the bed, sunlight coming from the curtained window just behind it.

Carefully, she pulled herself to the side of the bed. She sat there contemplating her surroundings. The stone walls. The ornate decorations. It is oddly familiar. Steeling herself, she plants her feet on the chilled stone and stands.

Dizzy, she reaches for the chair to steady herself. One step after the other, she tells herself. When she reaches the window, she presses her face against the cool stone and squints into the sun.

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the blaring sunlight behind the curtain. When she can finally see again she is looking out on a massive expanse of stone buildings, blue skies, and crumbling towers. A group of Wyvern Riders flies past the window in tight formation, startling her.

The monastery.

Byleth presses her body against the wall, shook by the sudden rush of revelation.

So, she is at the monastery. She has survived the fall of Garreg Mach. She has survived Rhea. Edelgard has--

"Edelgard," she breathes, her mouth forming the name. What has become of her favorite student? Surely she lives, if Byleth has woken up here, safe.

“So it’s true then. You’ve finally woken up.” A soft male voice startles her.

In the doorway comes a tall, pretty man in fine scholarly robes, a pitcher in his hands. Hair the color of moss falls past his shoulders. His easy smile and languid eyes can’t hide the excitement that spreads across his face.

“L-Lin?”

“Guilty as charged,” Linhardt says as he pours water into a glass. “Why don’t you take a seat professor? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Her eyes follow the glass with intense need, but she does as she is told. When he holds the glass out to her she grasps it and drinks greedily.

“Slow down now! You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

Once the glass is empty she holds it out to him. Linhardt fills it, then settles down on the bed, placing the pitcher at his feet. Through the glass she watches his wavering face. The languid eyes are lined with a concern that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen her student. He watches her back just as intently, something secret lurking in his smile.

“Linhardt.” She forces herself to put the glass to the side. “How long exactly have I been asleep?”

He seems to contemplate this for a moment and it makes her wonder fearfully. Two days? Five? A week? Two weeks? Finally he speaks.

“Almost five years to the day professor," he says simply. "To be able to sleep through the bulk of a terrible war. . . I’m admittedly very jealous.” He chuckles, but nothing about his expression tells her he's joking.

“You’re serious.”

“Deathly.”

She looks down into her glass and realizes for the first time she's wearing a silken shift. Then looking at her hands she realizes how pale her skin has become, how her fingers seem to tremble when she holds them out. Her empty stomach roils sickly around the water.

“During battle with the Immaculate One, the monastery started to crumble. In the aftermath, you were left unresponsive. You were so still, your heartbeat . . . If it hadn’t been for your breathing, we’d have thought you dead. We tried everything to revive you, but nothing worked. So in the end, we did our best to take care of you while you slept here in the monastery.”

“Lin. . . I’m so sorry--” _Who is alive,_ she wants to ask. _Who have I failed while I laid here uselessly?_ But she can’t muster the courage to ask. The gentle young man who’d once been too heartsick to even fathom taking a life places a steady hand on hers. It was the long, elegant hand of a nobleman, yet the fingers are as calloused as her own.

“We’re still here Professor. You’re still here. That’s all that matters.”

Linhardt tells her as much of the war as she thinks he can stomach. Even as condensed as it obviously is coming from the cleric, the details are still overwhelming. The march on Church forces. How Rhea had retreated into the kingdom. The disconcerting quiet from the Alliance. The stagnation of the war.

The academy is no more. The monastery has been taken by the Empire forces and the Church, academy and all the students have been dispersed across the land. . . Or lost to this new war.

It doesn’t escape Byleth’s notice how in all his explaining, he never once mentions the “Emperor” by name. He is oddly reticent to make more than a passing comment about her.

Byleth stores that knowledge away. Hoping perhaps to see Her Majesty in person. When Byleth makes mentions of her desire to go outside the room, Linhardt seems to waver.

“I suppose you must be starving. I’ll find you some dinner.” It’s an obvious deflection and one she can’t argue seeing as he’s up and out the door before she can stop him.

It stings. But what more can she do except wait? She settles back into bed and watches the sunset through the wide window. She doesn’t have to wait long before the door opens again, but instead of Linhardt, the maid from earlier is there with a tray of food. She keeps her eyes downcast as she makes her way over to the bed.

“Sir Hevring says not to eat too much. Your stomach is not going to like it.”

“Thank you,” she says, accepting the tray. The girl says nothing else and Byleth watches her flee the room with chagrin.

The meal is a light broth, vegetables boiled to blandness and thick bread. She supposes it’s appropriate fair for someone who’s last proper meal was fives years ago. She eats most of it, but true to Linhardt’s advice, her stomach is not a fan.

She contemplates leaving the room, but when she finally manages to stumble her way to the door, it’s locked.

“Why am I being held prisoner?” She asks. The empty room does not reply.

She decides to do the only logical thing left for her to do: sleep. It doesn’t come easy. Byleth wakes several times throughout the night, tossing and turning, her whole body aching. In one instance, fear lances through her as though she is afraid of something just unseen in the dark. When she turns to the side of the bed with the chair, the moon reveals it's empty. The dismay that washes through her is baffling.

* * *

The next time she wakes, the sun is shining and the is chair occupied. Not by Linhardt, or the elusive Emperor, but by another former student.

Hubert von Vestra sits straight-backed in the chair with his legs crossed and large gloved hands folded neatly on one knee. Dressed head to toe in an impeccable black buckled suit, a rapier at his side, he is striking. It seems time has turned the gaunt young man into the imposing figure he was meant to be. He smiles down at her, one mischievous green eye glittering, the other hidden by his shaggy black hair.

“How nice of you to join us again professor,” he purrs. His deep voice, somehow even deeper now.

“Should I be worried?”

He gives her an amused look and a tilt of the head that on a different man might be charming. On Hubert it's disconcerting.

“You tell me, professor. Should you be?”

“A strange man watching over me while I sleep,” she stretches herself into a sitting position. Her shoulders ache when she stretches them and she groans. She’s tired of sitting here in this bed, tired of being kept like a prisoner in a tower. It seems to her that Hubert's come to play a game of some sort with her. “It’s not the sort of thing that instills confidence in a girl.”

“You can hardly call me a stranger, professor.”

“I didn’t say stranger, Hubert. I said ‘strange man’.”

His laugh is sincere, but it is as maniacal as it ever was. Despite this, she finds herself smiling along with him.

“Well now, it’s been an age. Linhardt tells me you don’t remember much.”

“I only recall the battle in fragments. The noise and . . . Rhea. She transformed into something.”

“Ah, yes. The Immaculate One. Interesting that you remember her most of all. Tell me, professor, what do you recall about Lady Edelgard from that day?”

The name shocks her enough to draw her eyes back to him. Linhardt hadn’t mentioned her by name and the maid hadn’t said much of anything. It’s absurd, but she realizes at that moment she hadn’t heard the name said in over five years. Nor seen the woman herself. A rush of need hits her and she’s nearly breathless with it.

“Where is she?” The neediness is so apparent in her voice, it shakes and Hubert looks taken aback for just a moment.

“Her Majesty has duties that extend beyond the monastery. Though, I’m afraid she will regret having missed your awakening. If you would please answer the question,” he insists.

“I remember her standing behind me.”

“Yes,” Hubert urges her. He leans forward on the chair.

“She was there when. . . I fell?”

“She was.” Hubert reaches down at his side for something she hadn’t noticed earlier. A flat, wide object about the size of a book, wrapped in fabric. “Do you recall that it was the emperor herself who carried you from din?”

Byleth grabs at the sheet covering her, twists it. She can’t recall a damn thing. She certainly would have recalled _that_ , she tells herself. Hubert continues on, hands on the strange object.

“She carried you away from the crumbling monastery gates and brought you to safety. Once the monastery proper was fit enough for habitation, you were brought here and, here you have laid ever since.”

“I-I-”

“One thing continues to perplex me, however. Something the beast said on that day. Do you recall it?”

“Something Rhea said?”

Hubert nods.

She wracks her memories for shred of whatever it is he's trying to get her to remember. It’s all frustratingly vague. Rhea’s awful, serene face looms in her mind as she thinks. The woman is an enigma. Unknowable. More than that, the woman is not a woman at all, but a dragon, a fairytale monster.

Something clicks in her mind. Rhea’s voice floats back to her, tone sickening and smug. _“. . . Monster you have made me out to be.”_

“Something about monsters, and blood.” She shakes her head, dismayed. “Hubert, I can’t remember it all coherently. It’s still a blur.”

“How _fortunate_ it is then, that I was there that day and recall everything,” he says succinctly, confirming her theory that he's definitely playing a game with her, one she barely knows the rules to.

She stares at him blankly. He’s unwrapped the object and holds it down against his lap. Just like the memory of Rhea’s voice, something about the object is nagging at her, like a painful tooth.

“Why are you playing games with me? Why am I locked in here? Why hasn’t Edelgard come yet-”

He tuts. “Patience, dear professor. All will become clear. Rhea made mention of monsters and blood, yes, she had much to say in fact. I suppose she is something of an expert on those accounts. The Immaculate one is a monster that has had ample time to establish itself as head of a church dedicated to its own bloodline. A bloodline that has permeated even the nobility in the form of crests. Saint Cethlean being prominent among them. Linhardt is a bearer of that crest himself. But I digress.” He raps his fingers on the object as he gives pause and Byleth watches, captivated.

“What is that?”

“This?” He motions, as though just noticing it for the first time. He holds it up for her. A mirror. The light refracts off it, showing her the parts of the room just behind her, bathed in soft sunlight. “It’s merely the tool I brought to illustrate my point.”

“Your point . . .” She trails off as she’s caught suddenly by her reflection. Hubert grinned at her.

“Ah, you noticed right away. Very good. You always were very astute.”

The face staring back at her is undoubtedly her own. Wan and blank, framed by mint green hair, deep bruise colored bags beneath her eyes. What she notices is _in_ the eyes. Her eyes had been dark blue before the change had happened. Then, after Sothis had dissolved her being into Byleth, they had become pale green. She had been expecting all that.

What she wasn’t expecting were the pupils. They were slit like a cats’. She reaches out for the mirror and he lets it go. Closer now, she can see every glowing fleck and color in her strange eyes. From a distance the pupils had been true slits, now up close they have widened into ovals with her disbelief.

“You see now perhaps, why we have been taking certain precautions with your arrangements. The beast made loose with mentioning the possibility of a connection between her blood and your own.”

Byleth’s not listening, she’s too busy staring at the strange eyed woman in the mirror. She twists her head one way and the other, watching with dread as the sharp eyes follow her every move. Her hair bounces limply and it’s then she notices something else. She pulls the hair back.

Her ears are pointed.

The mirror drops to the bed with a _whump_ and she looks down at her trembling hands, half expecting them to be tipped by claws. They’re not, but it does nothing to lessen the throbbing panic rising in her.

“You think . . . Because I’ve become like this, that I’m Rhea’s pawn.”

“To put it bluntly, yes. I expected that to be the case from the very start, when you were hired. So far, I’ve seen no evidence to support that theory beyond the, hmm, attributes. Linhardt believes this development is result of a combination of your crest and possible trauma.”

She looks over at him through tired eyes.

“What do you believe Hubert?”

“What do I believe? Well, I believe as devious as she is, Rhea was telling the truth. You have her blood running through you. How that has come to pass, remains to be seen.”

“And what,” she says, biting back her tightening throat. “What does her Majesty believe?”

“Who’s to say what her Majesty believes? I certainly won’t put words in her mouth.”

And what can she say to that? It’s the truth and as much as it pains her, she’s going to have to wait before she can learn it from the emperor herself. The mirror reflects the sunlit ceiling above them, the peak of the window just behind and the blue sky. It’s hard for her to believe there’s a war going on out there when all she’s seen is the inside of this room.

“I want to-” A single knock on the door interrupts her. He silences her with one gloved hand. He doesn’t rise to check the door, instead, he shifts in his seat, an expression of irritation on his face.

“I was under the impression the instructions I gave were that I not be bothered.” His stony voice carries, no doubt whoever is on the other side of the thick door can hear.

“Open the door, Hubert.”

It is a voice more effortlessly authoritative than even Hubert’s. And it’s one that causes a burning low in the pit of her stomach. How badly has she wanted to hear that voice again?

Hubert rises in a manner that can only be described as hasty and strides to the door. He pulls a key from a pocket, unlocks it and pulls it open with a flourish.

And there she was.

* * *

“Lady Edelgard. You are early-”

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Your campaign in the east is too fragile at this stage. I hadn’t thought the matter important enough to distract you from it-”

“This _is_ important to me Hubert. The most important. I had to learn about this from _gossip._ Did it not occur to you when you kept this from me, that I would find out one way or the other? And that it might have been preferable to hear it from you?”

“I . . . My apologies, your Majesty. I’m afraid I was motivated with only your best intentions in mind and ought else. Pray, forgive me.”

“Of course, old friend. Leave us.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Hubert looks torn, but merely inclines his head to his emperor’s wish, places the key in her palm, and shuts the door behind himself.

She turns and locks the door once more, but leaves the key in place.

Byleth studies her back with watery eyes. Her bearing is strong, she is still quite short, but she's all Byleth can see. She is resplendent; dressed in rich red velvet from neck to boot and on her silver-haired head, a golden headpiece glints in the sun.

“Edelgard. . .” She whispers. “Or should I call you your Majesty now?”

“Call me what you will, you will always be my teacher,” Edelgard says to the door, voice quiet.

Byleth can’t move, she’s glued to the bed, captivated by the presence of the other woman across the room. She wants to run to her, embrace her, but her limbs feel a hundred pounds apiece and she’s so drained, she can't.

Edelgard turns and Byleth sees the pain on her face written plain.

“Five years.” She says simply as she makes her way to the bed. Byleth stares down at the mirror on the bed, unable to meet her gaze as she steps closer.

In-person, up close, Edelgard is much larger than life than she once had, for all that she hadn’t seemed to grow in height. Her beautifully brocaded velvet attire accentuates her strong bearing and her position in life. Byleth can’t stop herself from wondering if the velvet and brocade hides more underneath than her body.

In the mirror she sees the pale face crowned by silver and gold. The crown itself is intricate metalworking of gold made to resemble the horns of a ram. Or a dragon.

A gloved hand reaches out in the mirror’s reflection and she can feel soft fingers caress her chin, pulling it up to meet the violet gaze of the woman she once called her student.

“El,” she manages.

The woman smiles down at her, her face radiant with joy, her eyes glistening with tears. Byleth’s throat, which has been tight, and her eyes which have been watery, give way and the tears slip from her. She chokes on a sob. Then, she’s pulled up against all that regal velvet and brocade against the surprisingly soft embrace of the woman called Emperor.

Edelgard brings them down against the bed, arms wrap around her teacher, the other woman grasping onto her as though life itself depends on it.

The velvet is smooth and stiff, but the woman beneath it is soft and warm. She smells sweet like honey with a sharp metallic tang. Like gold or steel. Or blood. Her soft silvery hair falls to Byleth’s face as she nudges her face against a bare neck, presses her lips against it.

Suddenly Edelgard pulls back from her and she’s worried she’s gone too far, taken too many liberties with this reunion. She’s about to pull away and apologize, when Edelgard presses her lips to Byleth’s in an urgent kiss.

She can’t think for the life of her, her whole mind suddenly centered on one thing only. The near brutal pace at which the other woman is pressing her plush lips into her own, prying into her like she’s bound and determined to get to her very soul. Byleth gives in to her with a moan and Edelgard’s arm tightens around her waist, the other comes up to grasp into her hair, pressing her closer and closer still.

Byleth would have called it a violent kiss if it hadn’t felt as thought her very life depended on it continuing forever. It doesn’t, Edelgard pulls away from her with a gasp, and Byleth is left reeling, fighting to control her breathing.

Edelgard brings her other hand up to explore Byleth’s face. Her fingers tracing the contours of her cheeks, her eyes. The other hand is still wrapped into her hair and without it, Byleth feels like jelly, as though she might at any moment fall backward into the bed. She clutches into velvet.

She wonders, half dreading as she watches Edelgard’s face, if the woman is cataloguing all the strange details she had herself earlier. She wonders if the woman has drawn any of the same conclusions Hubert had.

The golden horned headpiece is so close to her face she can nearly see herself in it, like the mirror. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the mirror lying on the bed, reflecting the red of Edelgard’s attire. She laughs despite herself and the other woman stops her tender exploration to smile crookedly at her.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You’re sitting on the mirror.”

Edelgard looks down with a soft ‘oh’ of surprise and picks it up, inspecting it.

“Hubert brought it to . . . Show me.”

“Of course.” Edelgard gives it one last look before carelessly tossing it to the chair. She pulls Byleth closer.

“I have waited so long for this,” she purrs.

“Five years, or so I’ve heard,” Byleth says jokingly. Edelgard doesn’t laugh. Instead she puts her calloused fingers to exploring Byleth’s still tender lips. The headpiece tinkles as Edelgard shakes her head.

“I never imagined this would happen.”

“Neither did I.” She says, voice gone tight again. “I’m a monster.”

The insecurity hits Byleth like a mace to the breastplate. She pulls from Edelgard’s embrace, but the other woman’s grip is strong, her arms well-muscled from hauling battle axes and eighty-plus pounds of armor and equipment across enemy lines. This realization has a spike of lust curdling low in her abdomen as Edelgard pulls her back into her chest.

“Don’t shy from me.” She whispers desperately into Byleth’s shoulder. Her breath is hot and wet, and Byleth is suddenly, acutely aware she’s wearing only a slip and nothing else. “I have watched over you whenever I was able. You have done nothing monstrous in all that time. Nothing about your appearance is monstrous to me.”

Strong, gentle hands hold her head in place. “You are beautiful to me.”

And with that, she’s pulled back into another kiss, this time much more gentle and much less hurried than the last. Byleth feels so small and naked against her. Lips press against her own at a languorous pace. She’s responding as well as one can when they’ve been made to stop and start, held tight to a persuasively strong partner who seems hellbent on making her shatter into a million different pieces.

She manages to just pull away from Edelgard long enough to catch her breath.

“I-I think if it’s proper, maybe you’ll remove some layers,” her voice is low, and she hopes the nervousness is well hidden in her husky voice.

“Oh,” Edelgard purrs. “And exactly what do you think is going to happen my teacher?” The smirk on her face is so dangerous, Byleth feels trapped. Edelgard brings one gloved hand up to her mouth and pulls it off with her teeth. She carelessly tosses it aside without breaking eye contact, and waits for Byleth to respond.

“W-well-”

“What if,” here she leans into Byleth, staring intently at her collarbone just barely peeking from behind her shift. “I preferred to remove your layers. Few though they be.”

“Ah!” Shivers go up her spine as Edelgard’s gloved hand palms her thigh and creeps ever higher, beneath her shift. She fists the stiff red velvet in shaking hands and allows herself to be pushed back down to the bed. Edelgard is looming above her in all her splendor and regalia and sparkling crown. The gloved hand pushes the shift ever higher, the other ungloved hand, comes back to her face, an insistent thumb pressing against her lips.

“Suck,” commands the emperor. She obeys.

The hand creeps higher until it's brushing against her hipbone, tracing the warm contours of her inner thigh. It makes Byleth squirm and press her tongue eagerly around the thumb in her mouth. She’s grasping at the emperor’s clothes, at once dismayed that body is hidden and overwhelmed by the authority of her partner.

The clever gloved fingers just barely brush her mound, and she’s moaning like a virgin, her thighs spreading, willing the fingers to explore further. Edelgard grins, leaning into her prey’s neck, and another two fingers are filling her mouth.

“Eager are we?”

All she can do is moan and writhe as the smooth gloved hand trails down into the wetness there. Then it’s gone along with the fingers in her mouth and Edelgard’s hot breath on her neck.

Instead Edelgard is sitting back up before Byleth, watching her writhe and pant. She inspects the glove and to Byleth’s utter shock and delight reaches out with her tongue and tastes the wet.

“Mmm. Sweet.”

The moan that comes out of her mouth is the most erotic sound Byleth’s ever heard, and she feels another hot strike of desire rush to her core. She watches rapt, as the pink tongue tastes it’s way through the slick. Then once she’s had her fill, Edelgard removes the glove, again with her teeth.

Edelgard gazes at her, tender and hungry all at once and her hands are on Byleth’s thighs again, trailing warmth and wet and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“My beloved teacher,” she whispers as she moves over Byleth.

And then, a welcome intrusion is probing at her, insistent and clever. The fingers press their way in, the thumb pressing its way down. Her mouth parts in an open pant and Edelgard takes the opportunity to sneak her fingers back in.

“So warm, and wet and inviting. As though you were waiting just for me.”

Byleth’s legs part as much as they can, her bare flesh brushing against the sides of the thick robes. The sensation is maddening as is the slow even pace of the fingers inside of her. It seems as though Edelgard can tell, as she smirks down at her prey, her own tongue just peaking out to wet her plush lips. She leans down into Byleth again, the smooth velvet pressing against her chest, her nipples hard at the slightest brush though the silken shift.

“How does it feel?” She asks, fingers trailing saliva on their way out of Byleth’s panting mouth.

“G-good but-”

“More?” And then, the fingers in her mouth press on her bottom teeth just as the ones in her cunt curl _up_. Edelgard’s thumb is pressing hard circles into her clit and she sees stars behind her eyelids. She bites down, not hard, but enough to make Edelgard breathe a little in surprise.

When she opens her eyes again, Edelgard is staring at her with an odd expression. The fingers inside of her have stilled, but they still fill her to the knuckle and the thumb is a hard presence between her folds.

“You bit me,” Edelgard says simply, and pulls her hand from her mouth, trailing saliva and a disconcerting amount of _red._

“What?!” Byleth gasps, tries to comprehend how, but Edelgard has her bracketed in by her own body and she can’t move. The emperor examines it carefully before turning it for Byleth to see. There’s a small puncture, perhaps the size of a pinprick on the end of one elegant finger.

“Open,” She orders again and Byelth can do nothing but obey and wait as Edelgard probes her mouth. She is shocked by the iron taste of the blood, but even more shocked by the simple fact that it does nothing to turn her off. The pulsing in her cunt is testament to that as the fingers brush along her teeth.

“I see,” Edelgard says simply. But Byleth can’t see, she’s too taken by the fingers in her cunt which have begun moving in earnest, thrusting and pressing and kneading her from the inside. She bucks her hips up in time to meet them. “You have more surprises.” Byleth doesn’t have the brainpower left to contemplate this and is complacent to let Edelgard ply her mouth open with one hand so long as the other one inside of her keeps pace.

They do more than keep pace. While Edelgard holds her mouth captive, she is twisting and pressing and curling her fingers into Byleth’s throbbing, hungry core. Her thighs shiver against the soft velvet and she squeezes them into either side of her lover, trying in vain to keep from spasming along with the pleasure in her cunt.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Edelgard's voice is a hiss into her neck, one Byleth barely registers as she's bucking into the forceful fingers inside of her. "Whose room this is? Whose bed I'm claiming you on?"

Byleth can do nothing but moan around the fingers in her mouth. "It matters not, you're mine now."

 _Mine. Mine. Mine._ That one word has her coming, _hard._

Her eyes roll back into her head as she shatters and spasms wildly, chasing the orgasm over the edge. When she opens them again she’s caught by her reflection in Edelgard’s brilliant crown. She sees her face distorted on one wide polished horn, her mouth open and fingers swiping over sharp, pointed teeth. Distantly she tells herself something’s off, but she doesn’t listen. She’s too intent on riding her orgasm out on Edelgard’s increasingly rough strokes.

She’s gone oversensitive now, her whole body shaking with the effort, back arching, urging her hard nipples up into the clothed breast above her. She whimpers around her full mouth and bears down on the rough fucking as she finally, spectacularly comes for a second time, shaking and trembling, legs clamped hard up around Edelgard’s waist.

The fingers go still inside of her as the aftershocks rock her body, the rapid pulsing in her cunt mimicking the heartbeat she has never had. It takes a moment for her to catch her breath and then a moment longer to flex her aching jaw as Edelgard finally pulls her hand away from her mouth.

When the fingers finally leave her, they leave a slick trailing caress to the inside of her thigh. And it’s with disappointment and relief both she feels as they go.The bed dips as Edelgard sits back before her once again, hears her hum with pleasure. But Byleth’s too boneless now with release to watch her. She’s too preoccupied with spreading out her sore, sweaty legs and shaking the tension out of her body.

She lies there in a pleasant haze for a moment just catching her breath and basking in Edelgard’s silent presence. Lazily, she opens her eyes and sees the other woman watching her with a secret smile on her face. She places one hand, drier now, on Byleth’s leg. She lifts her leg and settles it into place on Edelgard’s lap and then pulls the other leg up as well with a chuckle.

It’s comforting just to be here with her like this. She’s never felt so sated and content after sex the way she feels now. But it's inevitable. The pleasant buzz gives way to a niggling doubt; a mercenary can never get too comfortable.

“Now what?”

“What do you mean?” Edelgard has a slant on her smile, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I’ve waited so long for you to be here with me, to have you like this, now, is enough.”

“I mean, you’re not going to interrogate me too?”

“I have all the proof I need.” The hand stills on her ankle, a light grasp, a tickle of short nails on the skin there. “Hubert means well, but I see what he cannot. Do you want me to show you with this mirror he so graciously provided?”

Byleth laughs and adjusts the shift back over her thighs. “No thank you, I’ve seen plenty.”

Edelgard smiles. “Good. Whatever comes next, we may conquer it together.”

When she sits up, Edelgard is there, leaning in to kiss her.

“Yes,” she breathes, Edelgard's tongue already running along sharp canines she swore hadn’t been there before. She realizes she doesn’t care now.

**Author's Note:**

> This is legitimately based on a saucy dream I had, where someone had fangs and the other person was kind of a little _too_ I into it. . . I took a couple of liberties with the plot for reasons. You know, Nabatean!Byleth gets rawed by a possessive Edelgard who has an oral fixation reasons. I know, it's weird.
> 
> ANYWAY LMAO,
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
